Floating
by Kendarath
Summary: Yet another ZoroSanji story. Lots of contemplating and bleeding. And shonen-ai (consider this your warning).


My first OP fic. Written in first person 'cuz I'm a fucking idiot.

Only important info…

Pairing: Sanji/Zoro

Rating: R (because I have no decorum. Mostly language, and possibly adult situations later)

Chapter One

Everyone always talks about the surreal feeling they get in dreams. How they're floating and not feeling anything. And they _know_ they're dreaming.

Then they talk about it—and their stories always end with 'and then I woke up.'

But I don't talk during these conversations. I suppose it's because I'm waiting to 'wake up.' I know that I'm not sleeping, but nothing makes any sense.

He asks me why I sleep so much, I don't tell him why—he'll laugh. When I'm awake—things don't make sense. But when I'm sleeping, everything is perfect. It all makes sense there.

And the thing is, in my dreams, only one thing's different. He's where he belongs, with me, in my arms.

Sometimes I wonder why I… I don't know. I just feel like I should stick to one—reality or dreams, joy or pain, waking or sleep. That I'm deluding myself by getting up in the morning.

But sometimes I find myself unsure of how to act—I can't remember if we're supposed to be lovers or rivals. And it's tearing me up.

He doesn't think that I _think_ about things, but really, I'm _always_ thinking, except when I'm fighting. Not him, but pirates, or marines, or anyone that it's okay to kill.

That's something I know that's okay, no matter which place I am. The 'real' place or the 'dream' place. Something _not _complicated. Not like that shitty—

The sound of Usopp screaming bloody murder about being attacked jolts me straight out of my pretend nap.

My swords are drawn and I'm heading at the pirates. I'm sure I'm smiling—ferally, probably, I've been told I don't have any other kind of smile.

The next time that I'm aware of any sort of 'higher thinking' everything around me that could have constituted as an enemy was in pieces and bloody. Of course, I'm bloody too, but that's beside the point.

Though, it should be noted that when I say 'higher thinking', I don't mean that I'm completely unaware of what's going on around me. In fact, I'm hyper aware. I'm aware of everything I do, but I just act, no thinking. The bandanna helps me get there; it's not just a fashion statement you know. Sometimes I wonder if I just left the bandanna on, if I'd be able to avoid the whole dream-reality issue.

I walk over to the others and when I look at him I know it wouldn't matter. I smirk, he sneers, Luffy yells loudly, "Zoro! You're bleeding!"

I look down and see, surprisingly enough, a large gash down my leg. "Oh," is the only thing I can say, the pain flaring to life now that the adrenaline has gone and my injuries are pointed out. My leg the most predominate, but underneath it all the delicious little aches that told me I'd had a good workout. And barely noticeable, the pain of the numerous tiny scrapes I'd acquired.

And right on the heels of the pain is the overwhelming need to sit down. But of course, my manly pride assured the pain that I definitely didn't need to sit down. All the way down to the deck.

When I was there, my pride admitted that this was much better than standing.

But of course, that wasn't how my nakama took it. They of course took it as if I was seconds away from passing out. Which I wasn't. Really, the wound wasn't even that bad.

I must have been thinking a little too hard because the next thing I was aware of was being carried. The slight smell of smoke combined with sweat and the nameless scent of kitchen told me that it was that damn cook. I inhaled heavily, ready to yell at him that I didn't need his goddamn help. But the heady combination of sweat, smoke, and blood stole all my objections and I dropped my head to his chest in what he better interpret as angry.

Concentrating on breathing was rather important suddenly, and the next thing I noticed was the damn cook putting me down on the table. As he was setting me down he was bumped by Luffy, who apparently wanted to make sure that I wasn't unconscious. This in turn knocked my leg painfully against the table. I yelped loudly and shouted, "Damn cook!" at the same time that he turned on Luffy and snarled his name.

Luffy blinked in surprise as Sanji snarled at the rubber man, "Get. Out. Of. My. Kitchen… _Now_."

Luffy carefully looked at Sanji, then at me, then back at Sanji. He smiled, "'Kay, Sanji!" then he bounced out of the galley.

Sanji shut the door behind him before turning back to me, still glaring, "Idiot swordsman." he snarled snatching the medical kit out of the cupboard as he walked by.

"You're the idiot, cook." I snarled back. It was lame, I knew it, he knew it, we both pretended we didn't.

"I'm not the one lying on the table." Sanji shot back.

No witty retort came to mind so I just snarled, "Baka." again.

Then without warning the idiot had shoved up my haramaki and yanked down my pants. I yelped, I couldn't help it. Then I yelled loudly, "Jackass!"

Sanji didn't even twitch, "Calm down, idiot." He quirked an eyebrow at me, "I can't very well bandage your leg with your pants still on."

I just growled. There really wasn't a whole lot I could say that wouldn't cross those boundaries that were in place on this side of sleep.

Sanji quickly bandaged my leg and then stated with slightly pursed lips, "You're damn lucky, idiot, that it was only long, not deep." He frowned, "I really don't know how you would have got that unless you _let_ them…" he trailed it off like a question.

I shook my head and swung my legs carefully off the table. I followed them and stood, slightly unstable and leaning on the table. "Can I have my pants back?"

Sanji blinked, as if he hadn't been aware that he'd been holding my pants for nearly five minutes. Then he thrust them in my direction awkwardly. I came to the conclusion that I must have hit my head somewhere along the line, because I could have sworn that he was blushing as I pulled my pants back on.

Settling my haramaki back down I knew I should leave, but he was just so _cute_ looking slightly down, and to one side, with his hands in his pockets, and _he_ wasn't telling me to leave so I stood there and watched him. After what felt like an eternity, standing there, feeling like I should be doing something, _anything_, now that I had the cook alone and had the opportunity to change this dream-reality situation. So, after eternity had passed, I turned to the door, and just before I left I murmured, "Thank you," barely above a whisper. But I know he heard me.

After all, even Sanji doesn't throw pots at doors for no reason.


End file.
